From Time to Eternity
by The Emcee
Summary: No one expected this. None of the countries ever thought it would happen, although a few wished for it. Out of all of them, they would have expected Britain or France to fall before he did. And yet he did and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Deathfic. Uk/Us. One-shot.


Title: From Time to Eternity

Author: The Emcee

Summary: No one expected this. None of the countries ever thought it would happen, although a few wished for it. Out of all of them, they would have expected Britain or France to fall before he did. And yet he did and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

Pairing: Uk/Us (Arthur/Alfred)

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: I wanted to make someone cry. I get like that sometimes. Let me know what you think! R&R. Enjoy!

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**From Time to Eternity**

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"_For death is no more than a turning of us from time to eternity."_

_William Penn_

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No one expected it to happen. Not so soon and not like this. Every country in the world had never imagined that this is how it would end, how _he_ would end. Not even Ivan, who was the most insane person Arthur knew, ever thought that it would happen this way, and that was saying something. And yet it had. He had died and there was nothing that anyone could have done to stop it. Like the sun, rising and setting every.

But that didn't make it right.

None of this was right, not one small piece of it! It could have been anyone else; it _should_ have been anyone else. Most of the countries were far older than he had been and while the bloodshed and body count varied from country to country, most of them had experienced things that should have brought them to their death beds long before he was brought to his. How Antonio was still alive and kicking was beyond Arthur; and don't even get him started on Ivan and his bloody history.

So many other countries should have fallen before he did and yet none of them had. Many of them had been through harder things than he had and for far longer. But he was special, he always had been. He had been a star, shining brightly in the darkness, and just like a star, he had died. But he had died far before his time. And yet, Arthur was still alive, he was still healthy and strong and oh, so _alive_.

_He _wasn't.

It just wasn't fair! None of it was! Arthur was far older than he had been; he had got through so many battles and wars and conflicts and had been put through the ringer more times than he could count. The scars that littered his body made him look like a patchwork rag doll. If anyone should have died, it should have been him, Arthur knew that. It only made sense; he was old, after all, and riddled with scars, had fought in more wars and battles than he had, but he was still alive.

And Alfred wasn't.

It had been more than a decade after the third World War. Russia and France were no longer the enemy and relations between all of the countries were improving and things had been going swimmingly. From what Arthur could tell, there was nothing amiss. And then, suddenly, one day during a meeting, Alfred just…collapsed. Thinking on it now, Arthur realized that Alfred had been looking pale, but he thought it was because he had been tired. The younger nation had had bags under his eyes, but he never mentioned having difficulty sleeping or anything of the sort. One minute, he had been sitting in his chair while Ludwig was speaking, and the next, he had fallen out of his chair and hit the ground with a definite, final _thud_ that seemed to echo throughout the room. It was deafening and everyone was silent.

Arthur was the first one out of his chair. As he knelt beside Alfred and picked up his limp body, as he heard his labored breathing and felt how cold he was, Arthur knew instinctively that Alfred was dying and that there was no way to stop it. Unfortunately, once a country begins to die, there is no stopping it. Whatever manner that happened to fell the country, it was irreversible, even if it was something as easily cured as the common cold.

Somehow, someway, Arthur and Francis had managed to get Alfred back to his hotel suite. Taking him to a hospital would have been redundant; there was nothing they could have done to save the United States of America. So, once the two of them had settled Alfred in his bed, Arthur had told Francis to leave. At first, he refused, saying that he didn't want to leave them alone, but then, after a bit of threatening, he had left the bedroom at least and went to the sitting room of Alfred's suite.

Once they were alone, Arthur knelt beside Alfred's bedside, grasping his hand as though he could, somehow, give his former colony some of the strength he had to keep him going. He knew it was a futile effort; Alfred was beginning to fade away, his body becoming more transparent as every minute passed. It broke Arthur's heart watching Alfred fade away from this world.

For many, many years his feelings towards the American had changed from that of parental love to romantic love. Every move Alfred made, every time he spoke, Arthur watched him and listened to him every time. His only regret was that he had never told him how he felt. Arthur had been through so much; he was a former pirate for Christ's sake! And yet, he couldn't find the courage to tell Alfred that he had loved him, not even on his death bed. How tragic that was, how very, very tragic and heartbreaking. Even as Arthur's green eyes shone with tears, he couldn't speak the words that rang within his soul.

Instead, all he could do was watch as Alfred, as America, faded into nothing.

Arthur's hand, which had been clutching Alfred's desperately, as though he could keep Alfred in this world, fell to the now empty bed. He could only stare in horror and sorrow at the empty bed. Tears began to flow freely from his green eyes, but he paid no attention to them; he hadn't even realized that he had been crying at all. How long he stayed like that, just staring at the bed, his mind blank, Arthur didn't know.

But then, something snapped inside of him. Suddenly, Arthur was full of rage and anger and sorrow and heartbreak. It wasn't supposed to be like this! Alfred wasn't supposed to die! He was supposed to live on and be the one to endure everything! Not…not die before all of the others…

Standing up, Arthur grabbed the first thing he could, which happened to be the alarm clock, and threw it. It hit the hall and shattered into pieces. He grabbed the next closest thing and threw that too. The Brit continued grabbing things and throwing them at the wall – a decorative vase actually hit the window, shatter it into a million tiny pieces before falling to the concrete or on some unsuspecting passerby. When Francis finally interceded, Arthur fought him off and succeeded in being released from his grip. Then he started hitting the Frenchman, punching him and kicking him until he no longer had the energy too.

It was only when he had calmed down that he realized that the last thing he grabbed to throw before Francis intervened was Alfred's cell phone.

Arthur kept that cell phone charged up and under lock and key. No one aside from Francis, Matthew, and Ludwig even knew he had it and, thankfully, they had told no one. Every single day, Arthur would go through the pictures on Alfred's phone, some of which were of the American himself while others were of food or things he had found 'neat' or 'awesome' (typical). And, when he was really feeling lonely, Arthur would read through his messages, laughing at first but always, _always_ ending up in tears. He couldn't help himself. It just wasn't fair!

Alfred shouldn't have died; it just wasn't right! He hadn't even died during the third World War, which Arthur would have expected as it had been hard on all of them. No, instead, he had died eleven years after the fact, after collapsing during a meeting. And then, as how all countries died, he faded away into nothing. It broke Arthur's heart and even now, even after five years, it was still fresh in his memory, fresh in his mind.

All of the things he regretted saying and doing to the greatest love of his life could no longer be taken back. All of the things he hadn't said or done but had wanted to so badly would never happen due to his own cowardice.

Arthur would never get the chance to know how Alfred truly help about him. He never got the chance to hold him in his arms or to kiss his lips, lips that looked so warm and soft. He never had the chance to tell Alfred how much he loved him and how very, very sorry he was for everything. And he would never get the chance to hear Alfred's voice again, a voice that he swore he could still hear from time to time even when he wasn't dreaming.

All he had of Alfred now was his cell phone and the memories that kept him company during the dark and lonely nights.

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**The End**

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A/N: You like it? You hate it? You thought it was okay? Let me know! Thanks for reading.


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